Weather
by HeavyFlowers
Summary: It's been months since Grace has taken Cole's cure and no one's seen any sign of her. Sam is slowing crumbling apart without her, beginning to lose hope. When Isabel comes back to visit, something terrible happens. Cole and Isabel struggle to hold Sam together as they weather this storm. But with Grace gone, how much of Sam is even left for them to save? ... "She is my daylight."
1. Chapter 1

**Weather**

_..._

_When you come out of the storm,_

_you won't be the same person who walked in._

_That's what this storm is all about._

Haruki Marakumi

_..._

**Sam**

The thing about time is that it's never _right_.

The moments that you want to hold onto, the ones that at first ring clearest and loudest in your mind quickly become something else. Something _wrong_. Time barrels right over those good memories and it leaves them thoughtlessly behind, splintered and sharp. Mutants of themselves.

They become a torment.

I stared out the window of the book store from where I sat behind the counter, kicking my heels dully against the front legs of my stool, and I watched the flat Minnesota sky fade slowly to black. And I tried not to think of Grace.

Nowadays the transition from day to night was slower. Fall had blustered by me in a rush of vivid colors and tense anticipation. Winter had come and passed, an endless stream of nights spent wide-eyed and shivering, my hands clenched into fists around my sheets. The _what ifs_ and _should haves_ had been so loud to me then, constantly clamoring in my ears, never giving me a moment's rest. That was when I'd first started to doubt. To doubt my decisions, my dreams of everything turning out okay. To doubt in the truth of Cole's cure.

There were times now, a few weeks into the crisp new skin of spring, that I found myself doubting whether Grace had ever been real at all. That she wasn't some fantasy my mind had cooked up in the pinnacle of sleep-deprived delirium.

My eyes caught on the clock over the door and I realized I'd been sitting behind the counter an extra fifteen minutes past closing time. I shook myself and slid off the stool. So much for not thinking about Grace...

I walked through the store, flicking the light switches off, blanketing the aisles with peaceful darkness as I went. This was my favorite part about closing the store. It sort of made me feel like I imagined a parent would, tucking their children into bed.

_"I wish I could be with you in your dreams."_

Grace's voice suddenly echoed in the front of my memory, her voice musing and soft. My sneakers stumbled over each other and I had to catch myself with a hand on the wall. Something deep in the pit of my chest ached and I was distantly aware that I was gasping, but I was helpless to do anything but stand there as a wave of memories washed over me.

_"I think I'd like to see your thoughts as you're sleeping, all strung out in in front of me and lit up bright like Christmas lights."_

_Grace's gentle hand brushed the hair back from my face. A gesture that was somehow more tender and maternal than any I could remember from my own mother. Her soft lips, dewy and cool in the dim light of my room, pressed a kiss to my forehead. For some reason it made my throat feel tight, almost like I was going to cry. My fingers knotted in the sheets at my sides, and I was frightfully certain that she would be able to see in my eyes how much I needed her._

_"Sam." she said my name softly, like she was savoring the taste of it in her mouth, "Sam Roth.__" She giggled._

_"You are in my dreams." I said. My voice came out thick and too low and I swallowed. Her eyes moved over me, lying beneath her on my bed, and I suddenly became aware that I was trembling. Grace frowned, seeing it too._

_But she didn't say anything._

_Instead she settled her warm body along mine, the stack of her ribs balancing on my own, and she wrapped her arms around me tightly. Her touch filled the hollow places inside me I didn't even know existed._

I gasped at the memory, the touch of it stinging and painful in the front of my mind. Grace. Grace who had loved me more fully and warmly than my own mother. Who'd repaired rents and tears in me that I'd struggled to operate around for years.

_She was my daylight and the sound that colored my world. _

_Without her I am darkness, empty silence in the cold..._

The lyrics wavered off in my head. I wanted Grace back so badly that it hurt.

I shuffled outside, locking the heavy doors of the bookstore behind me. I shook my head. _Stop, _I told myself firmly, _stop thinking of her. _

But I knew I wouldn't. Wouldn't even if I could.

"So this is what losing your mind feels like..." I turned from the door into the crisp night air and walked along the sidewalk to the back of the store where Cole was supposed to pick me up after work. I shoved my hands into my pockets and thought endlessly of Grace.

Always Grace.

* * *

**Cole**

"So what you're saying is that you _didn't_ come back to visit middle-of-nowhere Minnesota because you missed me and my charm?"

"Cole." Isabel said coldly from the passenger seat of the Volkswagon, "You asked me if I missed seeing you naked. That-"

"-Not explicitly, I didn't."

She grimaced.

"I'm pretty sure 'subtle' is not in the Cole St. Claire dictionary... And besides, seeing you rolling around naked on the floor was many things, but charming was not one of them."

"Aw, now that's not fair. I was having a seizure, I couldn't help rolling around."

"No, no the other time I saw you naked and-" she stopped, and her eyes narrowed in an expression of cool disgust, "-You know what, I'm not even going to talk about this anymore because I can tell you like it."

I frowned, adopting a wounded look.

"No need to project your inappropriate feelings onto me," I said, "if you like talking about my unclothed body so much then you should just accept that. No need to hold onto all this cognitive dissonance over your attraction for me."

"You. Are. Impossible."

I grinned at her and she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and turning to look out at the mess of dark trees rushing by her window. I watched how the pale light of the moon turned the sleek lines of her blonde hair blue for a moment. Almost like she was cut from ice. Untouchable and unaffected, just how Isabel liked to be.

Just seeing her there, leaning back in the seat with her long legs propped up on the dashboard, looking somehow like a lounging cat, haughty and impossible to please-it made eveything inside me jiddery and excited. Like I'd just started to roll, cruising higher on some faceless pill I'd been reckless enough to try. Except I hadn't taken any drugs, and somehow the good feeling I was coasting along on was caused by nothing more than this girl's very presence.

I thought about reaching over and drawing a finger down the graceful line of her leg.

The car swerved.

"Cole!" she shrieked, her legs thumping to the floor of the car as she twisted in her seat to slap me, "Watch where you're going! You nearly brained us on a tree... Idiot."

I laughed, feeling simultaneously higher and more grounded than I've ever been. The spot on the back of my shoulder glowed where she'd slapped me, and I could feel my skin tingling.

"You never fail to make me feel special." I told her with sarcastic cheerfulness, knowing even as I said it that in some strange, probably unhealthy way, it was true. No one else had gotten a slap out of Isabel, not even Sam.

I felt accomplished.

I drove towards home, flying over the long flat Minnesota roads, part of me secretly hoping that Isabel would notice I was speeding and hit my shoulder again.

It wasn't until after I'd rolled the Volkswagon into the driveway, carried all of Isabel's extensive luggage into the house, and gotten into a fight with her over the pros and cons of having a monkey as a pet that I realized I'd forgotten to pick up Sam.

* * *

...

_VERY VERY IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!_

_Note: the following chapters will contain instances where the writing may be very graphic and upsetting to some readers. There are some dark, adult themes in this fanfiction and if anyone is uncomfortable reading about violence, emotionally distressing situations, and/or sexual situations then please do not read any of the following chapters. _

_I do not own any of the books or characters by Maggie Stievfater. This is a fanfiction and, as accurate as I will try to be, it is also an imperfect work. And a fanfiction._

_That said, feel free to review and tell me what you think. _

_Happy reading!_

_~Heavy Flowers_


	2. Chapter 2

**Weather**

_..._

_We fall,_

_and falling we're given wings._

Jeludden Jumi

_..._

**Sam**

I wasn't alone in the night.

The tinkling sound of glass splitting apart on the concrete sidewalk a distance behind me made me jump. A low burble of laughter reached me and I strained my ears in the darkness, just barely picking up the faint tread of sneakers coming my way.

I suddenly became aware of how dim it was back here behind the book store. The only light came from the stars, hanging distant and cold above my head, and from the flickering yellow bulb bolted over the backdoor and cased in a grate. It buzzed as a small army of moths hovered in a cloud around it.

I debated going back inside. It was late and, despite Mercy Falls being a small town and boasting about its family-oriented appeal, there were a few bars that attracted the sort of customer who ran in a rougher crowd. I was just about to turn on my heel, my hand already digging for the keys in my pocket, when I heard it.

A sudden rustling sounded loudly from behind the dumpsters. There was a sharp sound of shattering glass and tumbling boxes followed by a low, surprised growl. Then silence.

My eyes widened impossibly and I froze.

"_Grace_?"

I advanced cautiously across to the dead-ended alley, edging my way slowly towards where the dumpsters towered in a stretch of grass before the looming trunks of the forest. The asphalt seemed to be dark and glittering beneath my sneakered feet as the twinkling light of the stars shone down on it. There was no moon tonight.

But my heart felt bright with hope.

My feet carried me around to the side of the dumpster and I nearly stumbled under the crushing weight of relief that fell over me.

A dark grey wolf with sharp, discerning brown eyes stood on its hind legs, its muzzle and front paws buried deeply in the overflowing pile of trash spilling from the dumpster. It stared at me cautiously, the thick fur on the back of its neck raised slightly in tense wariness.

I forced myself to remain still, although all of a sudden I had the strangest urge to fall to my knees, and I kept my voice gentle and calm.

"Grace, it's me... Sam."

She didn't move a muscle, her long powerful body was as taut as a bowstring. I knew suddenly that if I didn't do something, and fast, she would run away from me. And she couldn't do that, I couldn't-my head reeled dizzily as I was assaulted with a battering wave of terror.

It didn't make any sense to me, I knew that I should be splitting at the seams with joy right now at the surreal discovery that Grace was alive. That she was _real_. That all those days and nights of silent agony hadn't been for nothing. That I wasn't crazy-but for some reason the only thought I could hold onto was that if she left, if Grace left and ran away from me now, I would be plunged once again, kicking and screaming, into that endless ocean of fear and doubt.

"_Grace_." I said again, and my voice came from somewhere deep and quaking in my chest. She moved, pushing herself back from the pile of garbage. Her four paws landed lightly on the short grasses, and I saw that she was preparing to flee.

Not thinking, my heart hammering with fear, I acted on instinct and sent her a tidal wave of mental images and sensations. Memories.

_The sharp glimmer of the sun as it sparkled in the icy droplets clinging to her fur as she ran ahead of me, bounding through the orange, dusk-lit forest with sweeping, graceful movements. The nutty, almond smell of her filling my nostrils and wafting over my lolling tongue like a warm, perfect cloud. The steady smolder of her dark, intelligent brown eyes, her human eyes. The swooping of my human stomach and the weakness of my knees when I felt her soft mouth meet mine. A scattering of gold-tinted leaves raining softly around us, our pack mates at our sides as we floated like ghosts through the glowing, crumbling forest. The harsh, animal whimper that had spilled out of me, ringing in my flushed ears, when I'd came in her the first time, lying tangled in the sheets of her bed. The gentle, but stunningly possessive way she'd closed her wolfy jaw over my own muzzle and the tingle that had run through me when I'd felt her low growl vibrating in the cores of my own teeth._

_Grace, Grace, Grace... _I felt that I was close to bursting.

She seemed to be momentarily overwhelmed, backing up on stiff legs, and then she stilled and cocked her head to the side. Her brown eyes regarded me curiously. I lowered myself slowly to my knees and held my palm gently out.

She took a hesitant step forward. I could see her nostrils quivering as she took in my scent.

_Please... Please, don't go..._

She took another step forward. She was close enough for me to touch her now, but I was afraid to move-I didn't think I could remember how to move at this point. The pungent, oily smell of the garbage filled my mouth as I breathed in and out shakily. A tiny sunburst of happiness sparkled within me.

Grace was here, she was alive, she-

-rough voices pierced and split the thin drape of silence that had fallen over us. I jolted at the noise, rocking back on my knees, but Grace was already gone. A patch of tall grass waved silently in the cool, night air just before the shadowed treeline, the only evidence of Grace's departure.

My heart felt thick and clumsy in my chest. I stared after her in stunned silence, still lowered to my knees with one hand stretched out imploringly to the empty air. Mixed laughter rumbled and wheezed behind me, shaking me out of my stupor. I stood up quickly, whirling around to face the alley entrance.

"What are you doing out here, Sam Roth?"

John Marx stared at me with narrowed eyes from the mouth of the alley. Olivia's brother... My heart twisted in my chest. He didn't look like he was doing any better since the last time I'd seen him, when he'd tried to punch my face off.

And he wasn't alone.

Standing in the dim halo of a streetlight, he stood slouched with his hands in his pockets, surrounded by a group of five other young men. None of them were clean shaven and they had the sweaty, disheveled look of veteran drunks who had made a habit of spending every night out of their own beds. One of them blew a thick wad of clear spit onto the sidewalk. It landed with a flat, wet sound. The group of them began to amble towards me.

Still stung by the swiftness of Grace's departure, it didn't occur to me to say or do anything before John was speaking again. His words were slurred, laced with alcohol and something steely and mean just under the surface that had the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

"Lemme guess," he said, tilting his head and squinting as if he were thinking very hard about something, "You're looking for the next victim. That sound about right?" A thin smile had broken through his lips as he said this, stepping towards me steadily.

I didn't say anything. They continued to advance, fanning out and blocking the way out of the alley. It occurred to me then that I should have ran.

"My little baby sister wasn't enough for you? Wasn't enough... for your sick and twisted appetite?" The last of his words came out through his teeth, still gritted in that sharp smile. His eyes were dark, but I could see that they were burning even from where I stood a couple of yards from him.

I shifted on my feet uneasily. There was something about the look on his face that made me nervous.

_An empty smile, an empty night_

_There are no words for his broken life._

The lyrics fluttered to the surface and then slipped away, a growing discomfort rising to take their place.

"I don't want any trouble." I said slowly. This only earned a series of gruff laughs from the men. They continued to stalk towards me.

"Oh, this shouldn't be any trouble at all." John said, his face pale and grim despite the laughing tone of his words. He was close enough now to touch me, barely an arm's width away. His burning, hollow eyes bored into mine and I felt a sudden wolfish desire to launch myself forward and tear at his throat. I staggered back a few steps, alarmed at the intensity of my latent wolf instincts.

I prepared myself to turn and make a mad dash after Grace into the dark forest, but the men had already formed a loose circle around me.

_What are they trying to do? _I found myself thinking worriedly, despite the all too obvious fact that they intended to hurt me. I quite suddenly realized that I'd never been in a fight like this before. I didn't have any experience with situations like this, except for maybe the times when I'd run through the trees of the forest. Hunting.

... Except this time _I_ was the prey.

_Don't look weak!_

The thought snapped my spine into a hard, straight line when John took another loose step towards me. My hands curled into tense fists, low at my sides. I raised my eyes firmly up to his own and held his gaze, clamping down on the human urge to whip my head around and to try and take them all in at once.

I held myself still.

None of them were speaking now and the cool night air felt crushed and smothered by the silence. But I knew that the moment I showed weakness, they would spring.

Like wolves.

I felt their eyes sliding over me in stern, disquieting appraisal. It was enough to make my legs shake with nervous energy. I hoped that they couldn't see it through the loose material of my jeans.

Now I knew how the deer felt when we'd gotten them cornered. I sensed them all shifting closer to me, but I forced myself to breathe calmly and hold onto the burning, hateful eyes of John Marx.

It was nearly unbearable.

"See, what I'm thinking now, Sam Roth," he said, his voice dull and quiet now, his smile gone, "is that it really doesn't matter a damn to you, does it? You don't... give a _fuck_... what Olivia felt. No. No, now you're looking at me like that, and it's making me think that you aren't such a nice guy after all, y'know? Cause... You sick, spineless _bastard... _I think.._." _

His dark eyes flickered up and down my body and he shook his head minutely, his lips curling in disgust.

"_I think you liked it_."

And it disarmed me, the sad, tremulous way that he said. It was like a curtain had been wearing a mask this entire time, a mask wreathed in fury, but underneath he was fragile and reeling from the inexplicable death of someone he'd loved more than his own soul... Exactly how I'd been feeling about Grace all these months that I'd half-believed she was dead.

It disarmed me so completely I found I no longer had room in my body for anything but hurt and pity for John Marx.

There was a moment of damp silence as I found myself fighting back tears.

And then they grabbed me.

* * *

**Grace**

I quivered like a leaf, the smells and scents of the night flowing over me like water.

_His_ scent.

A warm and pleasantly musky smell that seemed to emanate from the boy's very skin, it was layered with overtones of crisp pine and baking bread. And underneath it all was something elusive and tingling to my nose that spoke of eagerness and vulnerability.

It made me ache for him. My boy.

For, as uncertain as I was of everything about him, of that I was sure. He was mine and, in some intangible, obscure way that frightened me and made me want to hide in the thick trunks of the forest, I was his.

But my head was reeling from the sweeping rush of mental images that he'd sent me.

When the sharp noise of other voices reached me I startled and ran back into the forest.

But I could not leave him.

* * *

_Hello! Thanks for reading! _

_~Heavy Flowers_


	3. Chapter 3

**Weather**

_..._

_When some great sorrow, like a mighty river,_

_Flows through your life with peace-destroying power_

_And dearest things are swept from sight forever,_

_Say to your heart each trying hour:_

_This, too, shall pass away._

Lanta Wilson Smith

_..._

**Cole**

"What do you mean you were supposed to pick Sam up an hour ago?!" Isabel snapped.

"Uh." I said, shrugging my shoulders sarcastically as I clambered back into the Volkswagon, "I mean, in between picking you up from the airport later than I was supposed to because your plane was delayed, being showered with the constant stream of your heartfelt praise and admiration, and lugging your enormous suitcases up and down the stairs-I forgot to pick up Sam from work... an hour ago."

She slammed the passenger door shut and glared at me stonily.

"It's not my fault!" I yelled, opening my hands over the steering wheel in a reflexive _what_ motion. To my surprise I found that I was genuinely angry.

Angry at myself for forgetting Sam when he'd let me borrow his car-I could already see the dull acquiescence in his hooded yellow eyes, as if he really wasn't all that surprised that I'd messed up and that he'd never really expected anything of me anyway.

Angry at myself for _being_ _angry... _I didn't like caring about what Ringo probably thought of me.

But more than anything I was pretty, admittedly disproportionately, angry at Isabel. For getting so upset over Sam and being so quick to point the finger at me.

"Oh, will you just drive?" she said scathingly, snapping her seat buckle closed and turning away from me with a cross of her arms.

Dismissive and cold. Isabel Culpeper at her finest.

I jerked the car into reverse and wheeled out into the street, fixing my gaze steadily on the straight emotionless line of the road before me.

* * *

**Sam**

White lights burst before my eyes and I felt my teeth snap together with a sharp _snick _as the man behind me slammed his fist into the back of my skull. I would have fallen to my knees if it weren't for the two other men holding my arms out to my sides. Their grip hurt and steadied me-I could feel the flattened rush of my veins pulsing beneath their heavy hands. I'd never been held so tightly.

I had a blurry, sweeping glimpse of John Marx, standing before me with his shoulders hunched and his hands buried in his pockets. His face was pale and absent, as if he wasn't really there at all. And then a thundering agony exploded through my ribs. I opened my mouth, my teeth bare and cold in the night air, but no scream came out. The foggy sound of rushing blood filled my ears.

_Fight! Fight!_ Every shred of wolfish instinct, human instinct even,screamed at me to protect myself. To lash out, to kick, to twist-to snap my teeth at the open air filling the space between me and John Marx's neck. To do something.

But I couldn't.

Cool silver flashed before me in the darkness. A knife. John, his face still hard and empty, stepped up to me and held the flat of the blade against my cheek. His eyes, now nothing more than shadowed hollows, impossible to read and impossible to reason with, flicked over me. A hand fell heavily onto the back of my neck. And for the first time, true terror licked through me.

I couldn't.

My head reeled, throbbing from the punches that had sent it whirling in every direction. Hot blood, somehow thick and runny at the same time, filled my mouth. I was distantly aware of it dribbling onto the collar of my shirt. Every breath was a fire. I couldn't keep my lids from flinching. John Marx grinned humorlessly at me and the liquid cool of his knife ghosted down the front of my shirt. The faded yellow of my shirt split open in its wake, Reptar's dinosaur face dissolving in a jagged tear of fabric. I looked down at my bare chest groggily for a moment, dimly noted the frightened hitch of my breathing, and I swiveled my eyes back up to John.

To resist would be the same as admitting to guilt.

* * *

**Cole**

Isabel flicked the side of my head hard.

"No." she told me.

"What." I pretended that the unexpected strength behind her manicured fingers hadn't surprised me. And I pretended that I hadn't just been thinking about what it could be that Sam might possibly have that I didn't.

I glanced at her over my arm, my wrist balancing on the steering wheel, and I raised an eyebrow. She stared back at me steadily.

"Just no, Cole."

I looked at her for a moment and then I spoke.

"I'm feeling a strong inclination right now to point out that, yes, while I do occasionally find myself in a canine's body, I am actually in no way, shape, or form a dog."

"Oh yes, how could I forget." she rolled her eyes, "You're a sarcastic, egotistical, pretty boy who-"

"You think I'm pretty?"

Isabel leveled the full intensity of her ice-filled blue eyes on me. Disdain filled the Volkswagon. I felt myself grinning.

* * *

**Grace**

He wasn't screaming.

My boy, the human with the soft eyes, eyes bright and clear like the sun, was scared. But he wasn't screaming.

I danced from paw to paw where I stood just under the swaying cover of the forest's edge. I wanted to run, to spring with all the strength in my legs and disappear into the furthest corners of the woods. I wanted to be gone from this sharp smelling place filled with the loud, cawing voices of men.

But I couldn't leave him.

I watched as the men lunged and tore at him, tossing him between themselves like the cruel paws of a bobcat toying with its kill. And something inside me smarted. Blistered.

My lanky sides heaved with a breathless sort of agony as I watched them beat him to the ground. I whined, trembling, as they kicked and stomped on him. His pale, furless skin was slick and raw with blood.

There were words and one of their number lowered himself over my boy, the others holding him in place.

I felt that I was made of ice.

The sharp, acidic smell of terror mingled with the thin helpless scent of my boy beneath the smells of rotting human trash. The man's hands moved, jostling my boy, and his short, whimpering cry reached me. My hackles raised.

My boy's face was pressed into the dirt. His fingers clawed at the grass where they lay, his arms held to the ground by the men on either side. The man whose hands made my boy cry out mounted him.

Now he screamed.

* * *

**Cole**

"You know," she said, "I was actually trying to comfort you."

"By talking to me like I was your two-pound yorkie who'd just piddled all over the floor?" I laughed amusedly, feeling a reckless sort of excitement fill me. The same sort of excitement that always seemed to rush through my body whenever her attention was focused on me, solely on me.

To my surprise a thin flash of hurt blew over Isabel's face.

It was quickly replaced with her usual steely glare of contempt. She turned away from me and leaned her cheek against the seat, looking out at the dark woods whizzing by us. I glanced at her thoughtfully.

"Why?" I asked finally.

"Why what?"

"Why did you think it would be a good idea for _you_ to try comforting _me_?" The question came out more sardonic than I would've liked.

She didn't say anything for a moment and I thought she had decided to ignore me in typical ice-queen fashion. I was just thinking about maybe turning on the radio and changing it to some obnoxiously loud rock station in a childish gambit to get her to talk to me again, when she spoke suddenly.

"You think we can't see it but we do."

I glanced at her again, the pale glow of the streetlights stringing by us lighting up my peripherals, and I didn't say anything.

"You put on a face whenever you're thinking about destroying yourself..." she said, "It's a calm, indifferent face and we all notice it, Cole."

"I wasn't thinking about-"

"-You were about to." she said simply, turning her head to look at me fiercely over her shoulder. I blinked, frowning slowly. What had I been thinking about?

_Sam. Sam fuckin' Roth and whatever it was that silent, sleepy-looking bastard has that I don't._

"Oh." I found myself agreeing with her in a surprised sort of way, "Right."

"So could you not." she said roughly, "Think about how much you miss hurting yourself, I mean. Cause we kinda actually need you here."

I turned my eyes back to the road and I felt my brow dip into a small, puzzled frown.

"You don't need me..." The words came out before I was even sure I wanted to say them, quiet and mumbled.

* * *

**Sam**

Crushed and splintered, I became a scattering of mechanical movements. Seen from a distance.

The creaking, hollow stretch of ribs as air slid in. The mindless flutter of lids as eyes struggled to choose between the twin agonies of being closed or open. Small ticks in fingers buried past the nail in dirt. The obliterating crush of a hip, bare and scraped raw against the crumbled edge of the asphalt road, as the thin, pale body of a boy was pounded into the earth by the man above it.

I existed...

But barely.

* * *

**Grace**

I couldn't make sense of it. Were they killing him to eat him?

I watched, my lips twitching and humming with a snarl, as each of the men took their turns mounting him. The night was endless and dark and the sight of their mouths sliding over my boy's shuddering skin raked my insides with fire.

I didn't understand. What were they doing?

Humans didn't eat other humans. And if they were trying to kill him, why were they mating with him?

And why couldn't I move?

My lean, steely muscles were coiled and bunched. I was vibrating with the need to run.

The only problem was I was no longer sure of which way I wanted to go. Every second that passed, every muffled wail of agony from my boy strengthened my desire to run to him.

But with every grunt and rumbling laugh of the men, loud and booming to my ears, I felt more than ever that I wanted to run away from it all.

But I couldn't. Move.

A howl of torment burst from my chest, exploding powerfully through the cool night air.

* * *

**Sam**

Howling. A blue noise of looping misery.

A flash of _silver_ and a white river of agony.

I rode it, and I wrestled it, and I _sunk_.

Flat darkness.

* * *

**Cole**

I pulled into the dead-end alley behind the bookstore. The night was perfectly dark and still outside the car window.

Isabel sat in silence in the Volkswagon beside me, both of us waiting for Sam.

I thought about what she'd last said to me. Simply, as if it was her answer to everything and it should by all means be mine too.

_Don't be an idiot, _her voice echoed in the empty air between us.

"Geez, what's taking him so long?" Isabel's actual voice said suddenly, sounding much less soft and much less pleasant than her voice in my memory had.

"The nerve of him." I mumbled, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, "Call him, see if he picks up."

"You call him." she said and unbuckled herself swiftly, swinging open the car door, "I'm gonna get some air."

She tossed her cellphone back at me and I caught it with one hand.

"Oh-kee." I said slowly, raising my eyebrows a little as she slammed the car door behind her. What was her problem? It was hard to know if she was angry at something I did or if she was just feeling antsy. With Isabel it was always hard to tell.

I turned my face down to the small black phone resting in my hand and, without a flicker of hesitation, I thumbed through her text messages.

I was just in the middle of dissecting a string of texts between her and this guy named Phil when something heavy slapped against the drivers side window, making me jump. I looked up.

It was Isabel. Her face was pale and her blue eyes were wider than I'd ever seen them. Her hands were pressed flat against the glass.

"Cole!" she yelled, the palms of her hands knocking against the window again, "Cole, get out. It's Sam."


	4. Chapter 4

**Weather**

_..._

_To love life, to love it even_

_when you have no stomach for it_

_and everything you held dear_

_crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,_

_your throat filled with the silt of it._

_When grief sits with you, its tropical heat_

_thickening the air, heavy as water_

_more fit for gills than lungs;_

_when grief weights you like your own flesh_

_only more of it, an obesity of grief,_

_you think, How can a body withstand this?_

_Then you hold life like a face_

_between your palms, a plain face,_

_no charming smile, no violet eyes,_

_and you say, yes, I will take you_

_I will love you, again._

Ellen Bass

_..._

**Isabel**

From the beginning Sam had a way of bringing out the very best and worst in me. In all of us.

He had that sort of attentive quietness about him that made you want to impress-to enchant, startle, provoke-say or do anything, just to get him to _react_.

From what Grace and Cole had told me of Sam's past, his entire life seemed to be the patchwork result of other people's plans and decisions.

People who'd wanted to make him react.

Sam had all the characteristics of a leader; everything about him drew the eye, and there wasn't a beat of silence or a word uttered that went unnoticed by anyone around him. But for some reason, despite that magnetic power and enchantment he held over everyone he met, Sam was a person things _happened_ to... Not someone who made things happen.

And so, as I stared down at the pale, mangled flesh half-buried in the sloping pile of garbage at my feet, I found that a tiny, horribly cold part of myself wasn't shocked or surprised at all.

As if-because of everything that had been done to him, because of who he was even-it made sense that Sam had been hurt this way.

Because all it took was one look at the naked, blood-smeared body lying crumpled in the trash, limbs bent and twisted, for me to know what had happened.

"Cole! Cole, get out. It's Sam." I was back at the Volkswagon and beating my hands against the window before I was even aware of what I was doing. My voice sounded thin and foreign to my ears.

Cole's brow raised, a quick flash of alarm, and he held my gaze for just a moment, his green eyes steady and intense on mine through the thin pane of glass-and then he was out of the car. He slammed the door and stepped confidently into the night, cutting through air that had somehow grown still and stagnant, and he walked to the dumpster.

I stood breathlessly by the car, unable to do anything but stand and watch as Cole found Sam. Something small and sharp in Cole's brow ticked, and the profile of his body seemed to stiffen for a moment, but then it was as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just discovered the unconscious body of his closest friend lying still and broken in the trash. He became completely calm.

Cole fell into a crouch and reached a hand out over Sam. And suddenly I found that I could move again.

I stumbled over and thumped to my knees clumsily beside him.

"Oh, god. God, is he-" I cut myself off, barely aware of my hands clutching at Cole's shoulder.

He said nothing but, with a distant frown on his face, moved his fingers from the upturned white of Sam's wrist to beneath the sleek line of his jaw. Checking his pulse.

"Cole." I said, feeling dizzy, "Cole, he's been stabbed." My hands, fisted in the sleeve of Cole's loose sweatshirt, couldn't seem to stop jostling him as I said this.

The bloody, jagged line of a knife-cut split Sam open. It ran from the flat plane of hairless skin between his navel and his left hip, skating shakily over the prominent bone to where it trailed off down the side of his leg. It ended somewhere halfway down the side of his thigh. It was hard to tell how deep it was through all the blood. One of Sam's hands laid limp and heavy across his stomach from where he lay crumpled on his side, as if he had lost consciousness trying to protect himself. The fingers of that hand were bloody and bent, already swollen with bruises the color of storm-filled clouds.

It occurred to me that, if he hadn't caught the knife with the knuckles of his hand, the knife-cut on his hip would've been even worse. Sam could have died, he still might die, he-Cole's voice shook my panicked mind out of it's spiral.

"Isabel, go get the car ready. We're taking him to the hospital."

I turned and ran back to the Volkswagon with what felt like a growing boulder clogged inside my chest. It was hard to breathe around the weight of it.

Gasping, I swung the side door open wide and threw myself into the drivers seat, jerking the seatbelt tight over my chest. I settled my hands over the rubbery material of the steering wheel, my arms stiff and shaking in front of me. My heart hammered in my chest and I couldn't seem to stop whipping my head around to watch Cole working on Sam every few seconds.

Finally, after what felt like a painfully stretched out period of time, Cole straightened from where he was crouched, the thin line of Sam's body cradled carefully to his chest. He ran to the car and laid Sam out flat on his back along the back seat of the Volkswagon and slammed the door shut behind them. I watched, my heart hammering in my ears, as Cole stripped off his sweatshirt and pressed it firmly to the gash seeping blood along Sam's hip.

"Drive!" He snapped, head whipping around to face me, and I jolted in my seat. Now I could see the thinly-veiled panic and worry in his brilliant green eyes.

I jerked the car into reverse and thundered out of the alley. As the wheels of the Volkswagon met with the weathered asphalt of the road, the entire car bouncing and the engine roaring with my reckless speed, I heard a soft, inarticulate cry behind me as Sam slipped in and out of consciousness.

The first of many cries I would hear that night and in the long days that followed.

* * *

**Cole**

"Please... Please, I'm so-orry." Sam begged me, the hectic pace of the car jostling him, sending his head bouncing back against the seat. His face was wet and it glistened under the flashing glow of the passing streetlights through the car window.

I didn't know what to say to that, so I focused my attention on maintaining a steady pressure with my sweatshirt on the open wound on Sam's hip. His blood was soaking into the car seat.

Isabel sent the Volkswagon flying for a moment as she sped over a speed-bump and I stumbled forwards, my hands crushing against Sam in a brief instant as we slammed back down to the road.

Sam screamed.

And suddenly he was thrashing in my arms, rocking weakly from side to side, arms swinging and bare feet sliding jerkily over the fuzzy car seat as he kicked at empty air. His knee knocked me in the chin and my teeth closed over my tongue with a snap. White stars blinked dreamily before my vision and the hot spurt of leaking blood filled my mouth. I struggled to hold him still. The sweatshirt I'd been using to try and clot the blood tumbled from his hip and fell between us to the floor of the car.

"Nooo!" His fist beat once against my chest and bounced away, weak and ineffective. His eyes were screwed shut tight.

"Sam!" I grabbed at his shoulders with my hands, giving him a rough shake, "It's me-"

"-What's going on back there?" Isabel snapped from the driver's seat, sounding vicious and worried.

"Sam!"

"_PLEASE_! H-Hurts."

I froze at the raw terror in his voice and, without really meaning too, I sat back on my heels and let him bat my hands away from his shoulders. He shakily reached down to cover himself with one hand, the other reaching up to cover his face in the spread-fingered gesture of a frightened child as he rolled onto his side, turning away from me. His knees quaked together and tried to curl into his chest, but the open gash on his hip stopped him.

I didn't know if he knew where he was or what was happening, but the sight of his bruised and broken hands skidding in a panic over his body in a desperate attempt to cover himself sent a bizarre pang of hurt through me. As if the only things he were certain of in his frightened and pain-riddled state were that he was naked and that I wanted to hurt him.

"Hurts..." he said again, shuddering.

I picked my sweatshirt back up from the floor and, forcing myself to ignore the finger-shaped bruises darkening over the scraped and raw skin of his naked back, I settled the fabric over his wound again and held it there, my hands trembling.

"It's okay." I said, "I've got you, Ringo... I'm right here."

I didn't think we could get to the hospital soon enough.

* * *

_Please review! Thanks!_

_~Heavy Flowers_


	5. Chapter 5

**Weather**

**...**

_"I don't know what they're called, the spaces between seconds-but I think of you always in those intervals"_

_Salvador Plascencia, The People of Paper_

**Isabel**

There are some things that are excruciating to think about.

Rushing Sam into the cozy, warm lobby of Mercy Fall's General Hospital is one of them.

But, as I dropped heavily into the hard, wooden chair next to Cole in the waiting room, I found that I was incapable of thinking about anything else. It was as if my mind were a video reel that couldn't stop looping. Over and over again I saw the receptionist gasp as we swung through the revolving glass doors, her brown eyes widening in horror as they fell on Sam. And the blood. There had been so much blood.

My hands shook in my lap.

"Hey."

He'd been awake then, when we got to the hospital. I could still hear the soft, strangled sound of his crying in my ears. I hadn't known that Sam could sound like that... I hadn't known that anyone could sound like that. And the _pain_, the pain shining wetly through his golden eyes-

"-Hey. Hey! Isabel."

Cole was shaking my shoulder. His green eyes were wide, making him look a little crazy. He still had Sam's blood on his shirt.

I tried to speak but I couldn't begin to open my mouth. I stared up into Cole's face desperately. He set his hands firmly over mine.

"He's gonna be okay. You found him, Isabel. He's getting help and he's gonna be okay."

I nodded my head dully in reply. Yes, we'd gotten Sam to the hospital. Yes, he was being helped.

Cole's intense expression seemed to soften as he looked into my face. I guess I looked as pale and small as I felt because he did something then that surprised me. He leaned over and he wrapped his arms carefully around me... I didn't fight him. His hand stroked my hair with a gentleness I hadn't thought possible from him. His strength and warmth surrounded me.

But through it all I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from the red staining his shirt.

* * *

**Grace**

I stayed there long after they left and took my boy away. And fought to remember.

A chill wind whistled in the dark, sending the low branches of the pine tree swaying above me. I dipped my head and licked my chops nervously, but my paws felt as if they were frozen to the earth-I couldn't move.

A low whine escaped my throat.

I could remember his eyes. Two beautiful orbs of yellow that had stood out in the night like burning suns. And he'd come to me. Against all my instincts I'd looked into his eyes, and for just a moment I'd seen glimpses of another life, a life of warmth and...

I stepped in place for a moment, feeling confused. I couldn't remember. I whimpered and padded around the trunk of the tree, turning away from the clearing only to turn back, torn.

Yet, something kept me here.

I lifted my muzzle and let my nose taste the cold, sharp air. The smell of my boy was nearly buried by the reeking smells of trash and fear that hovered over this place like an invisible stain.

My boy was gone now... But part of his smell lingered.

As I whimpered and paced back and forth beneath the low-hanging branches of the forest, part of me wondered if that smell was all I'd ever have of him.

* * *

**Isabel**

By the time a nurse came out to speak with us, my stomach felt like a bundle of thick knots and I'd managed to sweat through the thin, blue fabric of my shirt. Some kind lady had found me a blanket and a coffee; I clutched at them both feebly as the nurse led us into a spare room so we could talk in privacy.

Last time we'd been here, it had been Sam sitting with us in the waiting room, looking like the entire world had been swept from under his feet. Now...

I sat down quickly next to Cole in one of the plastic chairs set up beside the examination table. The nurse, a short, red-cheeked woman with her hair tied up in a tight knot, took the swivel chair across from us. She set her clipboard down on the counter and turned to us slowly.

"You are friends of Samuel's? You're the ones who found him?"

Cole made a dry sort of grunting noise and nodded.

"I'm nurse-practitioner Marcy Wells. I'm here to inform you about your friend's condition."

When neither of us said anything she went on gently.

"Before we get to that, I feel obliged to inform you that at Mercy Falls General, we have a number of people on staff who can provide counseling services, should you find that desirable. It is not in our policy," she said, looking faintly disapproving, "to refer patients directly to the Psychiatric Ward without reason to suspect that they are a danger to themselves or others. However, in the case of your friend Samuel-"

"-Sam." Cole said,"And what are you trying to say? You think he's dangerous?"

Marcy Wells raised her hands in a cautioning motion, staring firmly at Cole.

"No, that is not what we are trying to say at all, Mr..."

"St. Claire."

"Mr. St. Claire." she said with the air of one speaking to an ill-tempered child, "There are members of the staff, however, that feel that it would be beneficial to make an exception in the case of Samuel, we-"

"-Sam." I found myself interrupting her now, a frown growing on my face, "And, excuse me, but I'm not sure what you're trying to insinuate here. If you're trying to say that you all think..." I scrambled for words, "think that Sam would hurt someone, you couldn't be more-"

"Excuse me, miss..."

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Culpepper."

"Ms. Culpepper." she said, beginning to look frustrated herself now, "I'm going to be frank with you. During operation, certain members of the staff became aware of a number of scars on your friend, Mr. Roth's, body which appear to be self-induced. We feel-"

"Excuse me!" I snapped, "But I thought you were here to tell us how our friend was doing!"

She leaned back in her swivel chair for a moment, looking very alarmed. Cole said nothing, but continued to stare at her blandly. She coughed once and turned to pick up her clipboard.

"Very well," she said stuffily, clearly disapproving, "Your friend Sam has acquired a number of external and internal injuries from what appears to have been a sexual attack of a violent nature."

She paused, taking in our reactions. I felt very small and cold all of a sudden.

"As you know, he was sent directly into our emergency intensive care unit, where he underwent surgery on a deep gash along his groin, hip, and leg. It appears to be a knife wound, and it required several sets of stitches. The surgery proceeded without any complications and from there he was sent to one of our emergency-crisis specialists..." She paused for a moment, a practiced indifference glossing over her face.

"Now, I know that this is not an easy thing to hear." she said, "But it is my duty to inform you that, after undergoing a thorough examination, our emergency-crisis specialist determined that Mr. Roth has been the victim of rape from multiple perpetrators."

My coffee shook in my hands. Cole didn't seem to react at all by my side.

"We have already examined your friend for traces of DNA, which we have sent directly to the lab. Results should take a few days to come back, but we will be sure to get in contact with you the moment that they do. We have also taken the liberty of testing him for STD's and any other transmittable diseases... There was found to be some deep bruising along the bones in his temple and jaw. He has some more of the same along his spine, shoulder, hip, and ribs. So, you'll have to be very careful that he doesn't fall and cause any further damage because that could result in a fracture, which would take an even longer time to heal... There was also a significant amount of tissue damage done to the rectum and anus, which we have him on antibiotics for at this time. An amount of residual bleeding and pain is to be expected but if the bleeding doesn't ease up within the next day or so you will have to give us a call. There is also a possibility of him reacting negatively to the medication we have prescribed."

"Right..." I said, feeling slightly dazed. Cole set his hand over my knee and squeezed.

Marcy Wells' removed expression seemed to soften. She set her clipboard back down and clasped her hands in her lap. She seemed to struggle for words for a long moment and then she spoke.

"I understand this is all very shocking to you. If there's anything that-"

"How is he now?" Cole spoke up suddenly, his hand growing very tight over my knee.

"At this moment he is in recovery. He'll be ready to go home tomorrow after a last round of check-ups have been performed by the doctor on duty. He was awake when I left him, although he may be asleep now..."

She grew silent, but a small frown had begun to form on her face.

"What is it?" Cole asked, picking up on her hesitation. She fidgeted in her swivel chair and appeared to debate something with herself. Finally she spoke.

"Normally, it goes against my policy to allow visitors after a patient has begun to rest..."

"But?" Cole shifted forwards in his seat, encouraging her to go on. To my surprise, she turned to me.

"As I understand it, he's been asking to see you."

"Me?" I heard myself ask weakly.

"He seemed very distressed, otherwise I wouldn't be offering to let you visit him at such late hours."

Cole stared at me. I opened and closed my mouth uselessly.

"Um."

"Would you like to see him?" she asked this very gently, her eyes centered on me. I couldn't explain the sudden vicious pounding of my heart speeding up in my chest. Sam had asked to see me?

"I, er-Yeah, okay." I stammered, rising slowly from my seat, looking for somewhere to place my coffee. I struggled to pretend I couldn't feel Cole's eyes following me.

"Right." she stood up promptly, hands patting her sides as if to clear some of the tension that had begun to fill the air, "If you'd follow me, Grace..."

* * *

**Cole**

"I-I'm not Grace." Isabel stiffened where she stood by the doorway. Her face was very pale.

The nurse spun on her heel quickly, a baffled frown dipping her brow.

"Oh, you aren't?" she seemed to recover quickly though because she said, "I'm so very sorry. I seem to have made a mistake... You both are free to go of course. You can expect your friend to be ready to leave the hospital after a quick checkup at one tomorrow. I'm sorry again, and please feel free to look into our various counseling and psychiatric services."

Marcy Wells lingered by the doorway awkwardly for a moment longer and then, bowing her head stiffly, she retreated back into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind her. Isabel sank back into her seat beside me.

And somehow she looked so lost. The kind of lost someone gets when they thought they'd gained the keys to the world, only to have it snatched from them before they could begin to really accept it.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to hug her or never speak to her again.

I settled for leaving the room...

Isabel didn't come out and join me in the dim interior of the Volkswagon for a long time. When she did slide into the passenger seat, her face blank and empty-looking, I saw that she'd been crying.

And I sat there, staring at her staring out the window at the blue-white streetlights in the cold parking lot, feeling like there were a thousand unsaid things floating around in the stiff air between us. Finally, I could take no more.

"C'mere."

Without a word, her hands curled into tiny fists under her chin, Isabel leaned across the seat and into my arms and began to cry.


End file.
